


The King is Dead, Long Live the King

by Lazy_Turtle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen, Middle Ages, Princes & Princesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 17:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16179572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazy_Turtle/pseuds/Lazy_Turtle
Summary: The king has been killed, the land has been conquered, and the heir is missing.Saved from death by a loyal friend, prince and knight must search for help from those whose power can match the dark sorcerers whom have overtaken the land.





	The King is Dead, Long Live the King

The young man sitting at the bar was tired. The hem of his traveling cloak was muddied. His face was drawn and pale. His wild black hair was dull and limp against his scalp. His green eyes were downcast as he slumped forward on the edge of the counter. In front of him sat a plate of half eaten food and a tankard of mead that was almost as full as when the innkeeper had placed it there a half hour ago. Bedraggled and road-worn, the look of him would give away little to any who didn’t know him. But then, that seemed to be the look of many a patron this evening. On any evening in these dark times.

It had already been six months since the public beheading of the king and queen. The invaders from the northern kingdom had come abruptly, leaving a bloody path in their wake as they charged for the very heart of Gryffindor. They had been caught by surprise – the simmering uneasiness that had been whispered about along the Slytherin border had given no indication of the kingdom’s intent.

The armies of scarlet and gold had quickly learned what they lacked in comparison to their enemy’s forces: Magic. Terrible, black magic that brought about nightmarish screaming on the fields of battle. Magic was a rarity in all lands, something that flowered only in the hidden cities where the magi lurked and kept their secrets to themselves. There was a rumor that one could only find them if they too had magic in their veins. Rarely were they seen to mix with the outside world, and if they did they were most often included in high courts and positions of power. But for every ten soldiers in Slytherin’s army, there was a dark-cloaked figure who shouted words in a foul and twisted language. And Gryffindor had little to answer it with.

There had been an archmage that held the ear of the royal family, a great and powerful sorcerer that lived in the highest tower of the citadel. He had flown to the battle front and challenged them himself. Then, in the wake of a massive explosion of power that had seemed to go on for days, his body had finally lay broken on the churned earth. It had been the end for them all.

What followed was little more than butchery. Bolstered by their triumph, the dark sorcerers had sacked the capital, killing half it’s occupants and terrorizing what was left. The lords that managed to flee the city had become like dust in the wind, all the while their king and queen were being executed. Only good fortune had spared the heir to the Gryffindor throne – exceptional good fortune, and a stubborn friend.

And so now here he sat, demoralized and tired. Trying what felt like in vain to find those he prayed would – those who _could_ – help his people. His dulled viridian irises looked up, listless as they alighted on the man whom had just entered the tavern.

The young man was likewise dressed in a battered traveling cloak, the fabric darkened by the rain that had begun to patter against the windows and roof of the in. His hair was dark, though against the candlelight of the bar, a coppery tone gleamed through the dye that the prince knew to mar its natural appearance. His nose was long and freckled, his eyes a bright blue clouded by dark thoughts. Beneath his cloak he wore tattered leather armor with a patch sewn roughly over one side of the breast. At his waist was a belt outfitted with a broadsword and brace of daggers.

With a grimace he removed his cloak and set it upon a hook beside the door to dry some before making his way over to where the weathered prince sat. Sitting down beside him with a soft grunt, he hailed the innkeeper for his own tankard of mead.

“More rumors tonight.” He said lowly.

“Anything of merit?” the prince inquired, his eyes narrowing.

“Nothing for us to concern ourselves with.” He grunted. “A few whispers about resistance in the capital, a mutter about some beast lurking in the woods – only thing I could find out about the mage city Dumbledore told us about were a few shop keepers who admitted to selling to a mystical wanderer or two.”

The dark haired young man grimaced and took a long pull from his otherwise untouched drink. “I’m sick of having to hunt around for a place that cannot be found. We should return to the capital and bolster the rebellion!”

“With what strength, Harry?” the other man hissed. “You’d get caught! All that would do would be to lose them more of their hope. The best we can do is to keep searching.”

“Then we should be searching for those willing to fight with us rather than wizards too cowardly to walk among ordinary men.” Snapped Harry, his voice full of bitterness. “I still don’t understand why you’re so set on this, Ron. So what if Dumbledore asked you, he’s _gone_ you fool.”

“I wish you would lower your voice.” Ron murmured as he glanced around furtively around them, then spoke his next words carefully. “And might I remind you, my friend, that not so long ago there was a time that you yourself took the archmage’s words to be gospel. Angry though you may be, there are things that need doing. You are the only one able to negotiate with the magi’s leadership, and therefore it is to you that the duty of finding them does fall.”

The prince scowled and took another pull from the tinkered in front of him before standing. “You can have the rest of my food, if you like. I’m going up to the room.”

The knight watched him go with sorrowful eyes.


End file.
